


Jotting down my fears

by Akikofuma



Series: Witcher Prompts [7]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Fluff & Smutt, Jaskier writes in a journal, M/M, Mild D/S undertones, Mutual Pining, Oblivious!Geralt, Prompt Fill, Self-Loathing, Some angst, i wrote this when i should have been sleeping, insecure!Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:15:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27812131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akikofuma/pseuds/Akikofuma
Summary: After weeks of failing to come up with new songs, Jaskier gets in the habit of writing down his thoughts in the journal he usually uses for his compositions.No one was ever meant to read them. Especially not Geralt.So of course, the Witcher eventually does.----A prompt by the wonderful @isetmyfriendsonfire <3
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher Prompts [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1955077
Comments: 13
Kudos: 343





	Jotting down my fears

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ISETMYFRIENDSONFIRE](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ISETMYFRIENDSONFIRE/gifts).



Jaskier glanced at the book in his hands.

Empty pages glared back at him.

He hadn’t managed to come up with a single song in weeks. Lyrics used to come to him in his sleep, jump out at him in the oddest moments. A single glance at the most mundane thing and he’d been off. Then he’d met Geralt, and, _well_. He didn’t call the Witcher his muse for no reason.

The dragon hunt had changed many things.

Yes, Jaskiers exuberant mood and easy self confidence had been an act at times; a little bravado could never go amiss. Most of the times, however, it hadn’t been an act. He had believed in himself, his abilities. A master of the seven arts, a top graduate of the Oxenfurt academy; his songs had become well known, he’d played at multiple, prestigious events.

Yet know, all he could see when he looked into the mirror were his flaws. His body, his mind, everything he could find wrong about himself, it screamed at him from his reflection. He was too thin, not muscled enough. His eyes were too big, and too close together. Even his _toes_ were weird, crooked and short.

He talked too much, without saying anything important. He didn’t know how to wield a sword; could barely wield the dagger Geralt had been so thoughtful to give him. He didn’t know how to hunt, or how to properly prepare the game the Witcher caught. Most days, Geralt had to slow Roach down so Jaskier could keep up with them. Where without him, the Witcher would have easily made it to the next town and gotten himself a contract, he was now forced to spend the night sleeping in the woods, risking another taking the contract instead, losing out on coin. Even worse, Jaskier forced Geralt to stick around in villages, cities, all the things the white wolf hated but had to endure, all because of _him_. Because Jaskier was slow and weak.

He’d never be a worthy traveling companion, simply because he _wasn’t_ worthy. 

The blank paper was mocking him, now.

_If you can’t do this, if you can’t help him become more famous, earn him more coin, what use did he have?_

The Witcher would eventually ditch him again,  and rightfully so.  He didn’t think he could bare it, so soon after having reunited. 

Geralt had been so sweet when he’d tracked Jaskier down, a full eighteen months after the hunt, apologizing with such an earnest expression, it had almost hurt. Had vowed to treat Jaskier better, to be more appreciative. To be less harsh with his words and actions.

He hadn’t been able to resist. The following day, he’d packed up his things and joined Geralt on the Path again.

_Just get something down_ , he groused. _Anything is better than nothing. Start writing, it’ll come to you._

“ _I watched Geralt fight ghouls today. It was incredible, the way he cut them down. So fast, so strong, they never stood a chance. Its wrong to think about it, he was in danger, could’ve been hurt, but he looked so good doing it. The way he moved, wielded his sword. It was beautiful. I don’t know how people can look at him and see a monster, even with the potions. Hell, the black eyes and veins are scary, they are, but oh. That danger is somehow thrilling; knowing those big, broad hands could snap me in two… _

“Jaskier?” Startled, the poet turned his head to face the Witcher. “What are you doing? Fire’s gone out.”

“Oh, fuck.” Jaskier jumped up, having apparently gotten so caught up in his thoughts he’d simply stared as the flames died. “I’m sorry Geralt, I’ll get it going again.”

“Don’t worry.” The Witcher hummed, casting igni at the wood, bathing the night forest in warm light. “You alright?”

“Of course I am!” Jaskier put on his mask, his false cheer, that the Witcher had become accustomed to. The last thing he wanted to do was make Geralts life harder by worrying him. “Just got a bit lost in thought.”

“New song?” The man inquired, a new habit he’d picked up since they’d teamed up again. Geralt would feign interest, and Jaskier would do his best not to annoy the man with unimportant things.

“Something like that.” The poet smiled, closing his journal. Tomorrow. He’d come up with something good tomorrow.

* * *

The next day, however, did not bring the inspiration he had hoped for. Nor the next. When he’d read the last entry he’d jotted down, he’d felt a mixture of shame and disgust. Disgust for himself for- _objectifying_ his best friend. For thinking about the gentle wolf manhandling him around, use his enhanced strength to _take_ what he wanted, use Jaskier for his pleasure alone.. It was bad enough, being in love with Geralt. To think of him as a brute, the very thing Geralt so despised being thought of; it was a betrayal.

He’d torn the page out of the journal and tossed it into the fire to burn away his sins.

They’d gotten a room at an inn that day, much to the bards delight. He could sing for their supper, perhaps even a hot bath for Geralt when he came back from taking out a Forktail that had been stealing livestock. The Witcher deserved much more, but it was the best he could do for now.

So he sang his songs, bounced around the room. Pulled of his performance flawlessly, and earning a nice bit of coin. 

T onight, he’d done good.

Geralt was already in bed by the time Jaskier stumbled up the stairs, legs sore and fingers aching. The Witcher gave a grunt when the poet entered, but didn’t move beyond that. He wasn’t sure if he’d woken Geralt, or if the man was simply dozing; he tried to be quiet anyway.

Pleased with himself as he was, Jaskier settled down for sleep with a smile on his lips. For once, sleep found him quickly.

* * *

Two weeks later, and  _still_ Jaskier had no new material.

He wasn’t lacking the material; Geralt had been busier than ever before. More monsters than usual seemed to be about, and Jaskier got to witness half a dozen fights. He simply couldn’t come up with anything even halfway decent. He’d scribbled lines into his journal, only to immediately cross them out again. Geralt was out stocking up their supplies, and Jaskier had been determined to have a new song by the time the Witcher was back.

Ink stained his fingers as he stared at the disaster that lay before him. 

Nothing. He’d achieved  _nothing_ .

Fuck.

Maybe he could just give it another try, just write and see what happened.

_Geralt went up against a pack (is it called a pack? A hoard?) of drowners. I’ll never get used to seeing him fight. The village couldn’t afford to pay the whole price, so he let them off. Didn’t take a single copper. How can people hate him? All he ever does is help people. He’s generous, and kind, and if people would just give him a chance, they’d see it too. I wish he’d see himself the way I see him. He feels so much shame, hates himself so much. He has no idea that he’s beautiful. Noble. Perfect. He even took on a useless bard, offers his protection. A bard that doesn’t deserve any of it._

He swallowed heavily as he looked at the words he’d written, the truth ringing bitterly in his chest. He didn’t deserve Geralt. The world didn’t, really, but  _especially_ not Jaskier. He’d gotten the Witcher into so much trouble over the years; why Geralt still put up with him was beyond it. But then, Geralt had always blamed himself for things that weren’t his fault; had probably found Jaskier again because he’d felt guilty. 

The poets throat tightened, a shivering breath leaving him. How was he feeling better  _and_ worse at the same time?

“Jaskier.” Geralt grunted, quirking a brow at him. Jaskiers head snapped up, quickly taking the Witcher in. Was that- was there blood on his armor? Jaskier jumped off the bed and crossed the short distance between them. 

“What the hell happened?!” He demanded, quickly tugging at the fastenings to find out what injury Geralt had sustained. “God damn it, why are the latches so fucking difficult to get open? I can’t see where you’re hurt-”

“Calm down, bard.” Geralt rumbled, placing his broad hands against Jaskiers wrists, gently holding on. “Not my blood. Not anyone’s blood. Pigs blood.” 

“Pigs blood?” Jaskier repeated dumbly, brows furrowing. 

“Someone rigged the stable door. Figure they saw me leave, propped the bucket up top when they saw me come back.” Geralt shrugged, pretending to be unbothered. 

Jaskier, however, was  _fuming_ .

“Those ungrateful, stupid, _vile_ -” He ground out, shaking with rage. “You let their alderman off the hook and _this_ is how they thank you?! Oh, I’m going to find them and when I do, they’ll never find their bodies-”

“Jaskier.” His ranting came to a halt at the soft tone that, up until this moment, had never been aimed towards him. Unbelieving, Jaskier stared up into golden eyes, framed by white lashes, sullied by pigs blood. “..Thank you.” 

“I haven’t done anything.” The bard replied, confused. Geralt gave the barest of smiles, and Jaskiers heart fluttered. 

“Thank you for caring enough to stand up for me. I appreciate it. Lets hold off on murder, just for the time being. I could do with a bath.”

“A bath it is, then.” The poet quietly replied. 

* * *

The journey entries had become a thing. 

He’d come up with a few decent jigs, a nice ballad or two. He wasn’t completely hopeless anymore. Still nowhere close to  _useful_ , but still. He hated himself just a bit less now. He wrote every day, about what they’d done, what they’d seen. How amazing Geralt was, how much the poet adored him.  How little Jaskier felt he deserved it.

It felt good to get all of his thoughts out, spill his guts onto the blank pages. He had sworn he’d never tell anyone how he felt about Geralt; if the Witcher ever found out, he’d die of embarrassment. Geralt would no doubt be disgusted by the very idea, but he’d never actually say anything.  Would try and let Jaskier down easy, lessen the blow to the musicians heart. He was sweet like that. Because he knew how pathetic the bard was, how ridiculously fragile. 

Weak, in body and mind. 

This was the one way he could keep his promise to himself, but also get out the feelings threatening to overwhelm him at night. It had taken some time before he’d allowed himself to be okay with what he was doing; but there was nothing  _wrong_ with what he was doing. No one was ever going to read his journal, would ever witness the ramblings of a woefully love sick bard.

It was going to be fine. 

Of course, things never turned out fine where Jaskier was concerned. Often he’d bring the doom upon himself, too stupid or clumsy to keep himself out of trouble.

This time around, however, it hadn’t been his fault. 

* * *

Jaskier had been scribbling into his journal for hours now; Geralt watched as ink blotches formed on delicate fingers, at times smudging the words he’d just written. It was endearing to watch, the bard so engrossed in his task. The tip of a pink tongue peeking out between lush lips. In those moments, Geralt wanted nothing more than to pull Jaskier up by the collar and crush their lips together. 

Instead, he turned his attention back to the rabbits he’d caught them for dinner. Forced himself to push the inappropriate thoughts far from his mind, and let the bard do his thing. The sooner he got whatever was on his mind onto the paper, the sooner he’d return back to earth. They would talk a bit over dinner before laying down to sleep. He’d get to listen to Jaskiers steady breathing, his soft snores. Close his eyes and imagine what it would be like to curl up with the bard; hold him against his chest, or- on especially vulnerable nights- be held by Jaskier. Feel the musicians hands against his stomach, delicate fingers dancing along his chest, his sides. 

He had many fantasies concerning the bard; from fucking him roughly, to being fucked tenderly by the brunette man. He’d never allowed another man inside him, had never trusted anyone that much- but Jaskier? Well. There were a few things Geralt had been wanting to try, been curious about; with Jaskier, he might have allowed himself to try them. 

“Gonna go take a leak.” Geralt hummed in reply, sparing the poet walking into the forest a quick glance. Focused his ears to make sure nothing dangerous was out there, stalking Jaskier. He’d keep the little lark safe, if it was the last thing he did.

His gaze strayed to the bards bedroll. There lay that journal,  wide open, the little bird guarded day and night. 

_Curiosity killed the cat_ ; Geralt reminded itself. He shouldn’t snoop. It was just- some days Jaskier would give him that wide eyed look, whenever he was close enough to actually read what was being written, his scent turning sour with anxiety. Like he was worried about Geralt seeing what he’d committed to paper. It made no sense, he’d hear the songs the poet wrote sooner or later anyway. So why wasn’t he allowed to  _see_ ?

Geralt got onto his feet, glanced around the camp they’d made, like he was about to get caught. Ridiculous. There was nothing out there but birds and small critters. No humans, no monsters. No one that could call him out. 

_Just a few pages_ , he promised himself.  _Just the last few. He’s been so secretive recently, and they’re songs about me. I should be allowed to read them._ _And he left it lying there, for the world to see._

Geralt crouched beside the bedroll, scanning the newest entry, eyes going wide.

_Geralt laughed today at a joke I made. He laughed. It was the most beautiful sound; deep and melodic. He looked so young, so carefree. It’s the first time I’d ever heard it. It’s wasted on a sorry excuse of a travel companion like me, but oh. It made me want to cry, it was so wonderful. For just a second, it felt like I earned to be by his side. _

Geralt couldn’t believe his eyes, swallowed heavily. He turned the page to see what Jaskier had written the day before, only to furrow his brows in confusion.

_We stopped at a tavern in a little village today for lunch. Money has been tight recently, but Geralt insisted. He knew how hungry I was, no matter how much I tried to hide it. I hate myself for letting on, for making him worry again. He gave me half of his portion, even though I knew he hadn’t had enough. I tried to argue, but he wouldn’t have any of it. Sweet, thoughtful man. He shouldn’t be blowing his coin on me, he’s much more important than a measly little bard. Next time, I’ll fill up on water so my stomach doesn’t growl. _

His hand shook as he turned to the next. 

_Geralt smiled at me today, it made my heart stop. He has the most incredible smile, so sweet, so wonderful-_

_\- makes my heart ache how good he is, how graceful-_

_\- wonderful man, has no idea how much he’s worth, how much I adore him, how little I deserve him-_

_\- gorgeous Witcher, sweetest of wolves, he’s amazing, he’s perfect, the best man I ever met-_

On and on it went, pages filled with a neat, loopy handwriting, words upon words about- _him_.

Geralt didn’t understand, brows creasing until they almost met. So confused by his findings that he didn’t hear Jaskier footsteps, returning to camp. Jaskier gushed about him to anyone that would listen, be it in song or not, but this was different. He’d written this down in his private journal, words no one was ever supposed to read.

“Oh gods.” The bards voice snapped Geralt out of his feelings induced stupor, quickly standing up once more. Blue eyes were wide and fearful, staring at him like he expected to be throttled any second. “Geralt, I- I never.. you weren’t supposed to see any of that.”

The bards voice shook as he scrambled for words, hands clenching at his sides. 

“Jaskier.” Geralt rasped. He didn’t know how to handle this, what he was _supposed_ to do. Instinct told him to surge forward and hold the brunette, crush him against his chest and never let him go. Was that too fast? Too much? Geralt didn’t know. He and Yen had crashed into each other, there had been no talk about feelings or even time to fuck things up. That had come after.

“I’m sorry.” The bard mewled, trembling, refusing to even look at Geralt. “I’m _so_ sorry Geralt, I swear, I wasn’t going to do anything- I mean, I was never going to say anything or- or touch you against your will or-”

Geralt frowned harder. What was the bard going on about?

“I know you don’t want this, you didn’t ask for this. I know I’m more trouble than I’m worth, and after this you probably don’t want to be anywhere near me, disgusted by me, but if you could- if you’d let me stay for the night, I can be off before sunset-”

“Stop.” Geralt growled, finally able to convince him body to move, surging towards Jaskier. He caught the mans face between his hands, holding tight. “Stop talking. Just let me- let me _think_.”

Jaskiers mouth shut so forcefully, Geralt could hear his teeth click. The Witcher took a deep breathe, allowing the familiar scents of the woods and the bard to calm him. This was important. He needed to find the right words.

“I’m not disgusted.” That was a good start, Geralt thought. He just had to keep going. “I didn’t know you fucked men.” 

“I didn’t, when I was around you.” Jaskier whispered, cheeks blushing, but keeping his eyes lowered. Ashamed, Geralt realized with a start. “I didn’t know how you’d feel about it and-”

The way the bard broke off didn’t sit right with the Witcher.

“..And?” He encouraged gently. “What else, Jaskier?”

“..And no one could even begin to compare to you anyway.” The words where hushed, barely spoken. “I couldn’t be with another man after spending the day with you, watching you, h-hearing you talk. I’m sorry Geralt. I don’t- I don’t know how this happened.”

“How what happened?” The Witcher pressed on, needing to hear the words Jaskier was trying to hold in. Jaskier gave a sound of distress, a sad little whine. Geralt almost felt bad for pushing, but oh, if the bard said what he was _hoping_ to hear…

“How I feel in love with you.” Jaskier muttered. “I know why I love you, all those things I wrote, they’re true. Every single one. But I’m not- I don’t _deserve_ you. I’m sorry I’m putting this on you, on our friendship, all of it. I know you don’t feel the same way and-”

“Jaskier.” Geralt interrupted, slowly brushing calloused thumbs along the bards cheekbones. “You don’t know if I feel the same, or not. You never asked me.” 

A s gently as he could manage, Geralt tilted the bards head upwards by pressing just the tip of his fingers beneath his chin. 

“Look at me, bard.” He rumbled, golden eyes focusing intently on the baby blues before him. “Ask me, Julian.” 

Jaskier didn’t speak for long moments. Geralt felt his heart beat almost painfully against his chest as he waited. 

“Geralt, are you- do you think- I. I mean.” Jaskier stumbling over his words was a rare sight, and gods, all Geralt wanted to do was kiss those pretty lips. Would have done just that, if he didn’t know how much words matter to his lark. He just had to be patient. Jaskier took another moment, then seemed to steel himself. 

“I love you.” The brunette breathed, just a sliver of hope shining in those gorgeous blues. “I love you, and if there is even the smallest chance that we could even- _try_ to be more that be friends, I want that. If you do, too.” 

“ _Yes_.” Geralt growled, finally allowing himself the kiss he’d wanted for so many years. Had yearned for long before he’d even realized what he’d been yearning for. Their lips came crashing together, clumsy, yet somehow perfect. Jaskier gasped into it, lips opening just wide enough to allow the Witchers tongue to slip in, ravage the bards mouth. 

Jaskier tasted like heaven. Sweet, rich, like a good wine Geralt wanted to drink down.  He wrapped the bard into his arms, held him tight, allowing himself to explore every inch now laid out before him, his for the taking. 

_F_ _inally_ his.

Broad hands ran along dainty hips, along strong sides; basking in every sound the songbird gave, drowning himself in  them. Only allowed Jaskier to pull back when he was desperate for air, noisily gulping it down as he stared, wide eyed. Like he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. 

“Don’t overthink.” Geralt instructed, head dipping to run his nose along the bards neck, inhaling his scent. “I want this. Do you?”

“Gods, I- _Yes_ , of course I do, I’ve wanted it for years, I-” Jaskier rambled, cutting off with a groan as teeth set against his throat with just the barest of pressure. “ _Please!_ ”

“Please what, songbird?” Geralt husked, allowing himself to lap at the skin he’d just almost-bitten. “Can’t give it to you if I don’t know what you want.”

“Fuck you, you awful tease-” Jaskier whimpered, weakly thumping a fist against the Witchers chest. 

“Not tonight.” Geralt hummed, giving a smirk. “But in the future, I have no objections.”

“Oh, you’re an _evil_ man.” Jaskier whined, squirming in his grasp. “Fuck me, Geralt. Break me, bend me, ruin me for anyone else. Stick your cock in me and mark me up, let the whole world know I’m _yours_ -”

G eralt cut him off with another kiss, lest he lose all control and fuck the bard where they stood. Jaskier deserved more than that; he’d make sure his little songbird got everything the world, that Geralt, owned him and more. 

He pulled the bards doublet off his shoulder with just enough care not to rip it; he didn’t think Jaskier would have minded in this very moment, but once the passion cooled (for the moment), he’d be upset. 

“Was that good?” Jaskier teased as Geralt pulled at the chemise over his head, panting. “Specific enough for you?”

“Mmh.” Geralt rumbled, pulling back enough to let his eyes wander over newly exposed skin. He’d seen Jaskier naked before many times, but this time, it was different. Now, he’d get to touch, to cherish. “For now.” 

Time passed quickly between hungry kisses and greedy touch. Before he knew it, they were naked, Jaskier laid out below him on his bedroll. The light of the fire made his bard look almost ethereal, a being to beautiful to grace this earth.  Grinding against each other like they were still green, hard cocks brushing together, leaking messily against their stomachs.

“Beautiful.” Geralt grunted as his hips thrust, scenting the bards neck, biting the delicate skin to leave behind bruises and teeth marks. No one was ever going to mistake his bard as available ever again, not as long as Geralt had a say in the matter.

“Fuck Geralt, get _in_ me already!” Jaskier yowled, arching his back in an attempt to get the Witcher to move, allow him to spread his long, toned legs to get Geralt between them. “I’ve been waiting to have you for most of my damn _life_ , just get _on_ with it!”

“Patience.” Geralt rumbled, though he did give in a little. He pulled back enough to slip between Jaskiers legs, just as the bard wanted. Immediately, those legs wrapped around his narrow hips, pulling him in. 

“I’ve run out of that years ago.” Jaskier whined, wiggling beneath the Witcher, grasping desperately at Geralts back. “Please, please please. I needed your cock in me _yesterday_! Don’t tease me, or I’ll- I’ll explode!” 

G eralt chuckled against damp skin, licked the sweat off the bard. Jaskier tasted just as good as his scent promised, and Geralt hadn’t even gotten to taste the things he’d fantasized about.  Soon. Jaskier looked about ready to combust, best to make the first round quick. 

Sword calloused fingers trailed along Jaskiers hips, dipping into the v shape between the bards legs, lingering there just long enough to pull a whine of complaint from his songbird.

“Shh.” He soothed, fingers going lower, grazing the pert cheeks he’d been dying to grab hold of, bite and knead to his hearts content. Another idea for them to revisit. Geralt would gladly spend hours worshiping the finely crafted piece of art that was the bards ass. Use his hands, his mouth and tongue, until Jaskier wept with pleasure. 

F inally, he brushed against the bards opening, only to freeze in place. Jaskier was- how was he-

“I uh.” Jaskier swallowed, shyly looking away at Geralts questioning glance. “Didn’t _actually_ go to relieve myself- I just- You look so good, _all the time_ , its quite unfair-”

“Did you come?” Geralt rasped, lust surging through him. “Touching yourself, out in the woods, thinking about me?” 

“Geralt-” Jaskier murmured, once again ashamed of his actions. The Witcher was having none of that. 

“Tell me, sweet songbird.” Geralt urged, giving just the faintest pressure against the puckered hole, already slick with oil. “Did you fuck yourself on your fingers, imagining it was me? Or maybe you imagined it was my cock, splitting you open, filling you to the brim?”

“Yes, yes, all of that, _everything!_ ” Jaskier gasped, trying desperately to push his hips downwards, to get the Witchers fingers into him. Geralt gave a rumble of satisfaction.

“Such a slut for it.” He hummed, slowly sliding his index finger into the tight channel, muscles fluttering around it. “Couldn’t wait til I was asleep, had to go out into the middle of the forest to fuck yourself. So needy, little lark.” 

“Sorry.” Jaskier mewled, growing tense beneath the Witcher hands. 

“Don’t be. I like you greedy, songbird.” Geralt breathed, adding another finger as he spoke. Jaskier was still wet and well stretched, lose and so open, it likely took four of those slender fingers. “One day, I’ll tie you to a bed. Spend hours teasing you, til you can’t take it anymore. Would you like that?” 

“What I’d like-” Jaskier panted, curling the very fingers he’d opened himself up with into white locks. “- is for you to stick your giant cock in me, or I swear I will find _someone else_ to fill me-” 

T he little lark was trying to goad him into picking up the pace. It was working.

Before the bard could utter another word, Geralt grabbed him by the hips, pulling the slender body towards himself; spread his lark out on his thick thighs, exposing him to golden eyes.

“As you wish.” The Witcher growled, guiding his cock to kiss at the slick ring of muscles. “No one else is ever going to fuck you again, little lark. You’re mine now.”

“Yours.” Jaskier eagerly replied, shaking under the rapt attention solely focused onto him. 

A  single thrust, and Geralt was firmly seated within his bards body, groaning at the exquisite pressure surrounding him. Jaskier was perfect, hot and tight, grasping on to Geralt like he was afraid of losing him. The bard had to be insane if he thought he was ever leaving. If he could, Geralt would spend the rest of his life buried deep in the bards body. 

“Fuck.” Jaskier seemed awed, staring at Geralt like he was some kind of god. Funny. That’s exactly what Geralt saw when he looked at the bard. “Gods Geralt, you’re so- how are you so big? Gods, never been so full, never felt so _good_.”

Geralt couldn’t help but preen at that, proud to be pleasing his lover. 

“This is just the beginning.” Geralt promised, allowing himself a slow, luxurious thrust. “Going to fuck you til you can’t remember your own name, til no one else can ever satisfy you again. Just need you to do one thing for me, songbird.”

“What?” Jaskier asked, breathless, rolling his hips, begging for another thrust. “Anything Geralt, my white wolf, whatever you want.”

“Tell me you love me.” Geralt rumbled, deep in his chest. “Say it again for me, sweetheart.” 

“I love you.” Jaskier whispered, lips curled into a fond smile. “I love you Geralt. My Witcher. I’ll always love you.”

It was all Geralt needed. 

Slow thrust turned faster, harder. The bards voice rose in volume and pitch with each thrust delivered perfectly against his sweet spot. And Geralt was just as greedy as Jaskier, committed every whimper, every gasp to memory. Fucked the bard reverently, pouring all the words he couldn’t say into the places their bodies connected. 

When he came, he made sure to spill his seed as deep into the bard as he possibly could, painting him white from the inside. Claiming him. Jaskier followed soon after, shooting his load between them, their chests becoming sticky with it. 

They fell asleep covered in sweat and seed, that would surely become unpleasantly crusty come morning. Neither of them cared. 

“I love you.” Geralt hummed against the bards neck, just as his eyes fell shut, heavy with sleep.  Delighted in the way the bard shivered in his grasp at hearing the words, even fast asleep, wiggling to get closer to the Witcher.

Jaskier had never meant for anyone to read what he’d written down in his journal, but Geralt found he was rather happy with how things turned out. Once they woke, his bard would likely insist on talking about this all. In detail. 

Geralt smirked. There was no place he’d rather be.


End file.
